


Cut My Summer Soul (In Cold Blood)

by rosyrotten



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Canon, Silver Snow Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 10:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosyrotten/pseuds/rosyrotten
Summary: The letter from Ashe finds its way to House Gautier in the summer of the next year. Sylvain and Felix have survived a winter and a spring orbiting each other in a terrible, doomed trajectory. Felix knows neither of them have the guts to say anything about it.***Post Silver Snow Sylvain/Felix ending. Main pairing is Ashe/Felix.





	Cut My Summer Soul (In Cold Blood)

**Author's Note:**

> My partner and I played the Silver Snow/Church route first off and Sylvain and Felix make such a great couple uhhh until their paired end! I wasn't expecting it and was so devastated. So I wanted to write an alternate ending...? And it seemed kinda weird me to how quickly Ashe recovers from all the terrible things that happens to him...
> 
> Thanks Nata for drawing angst-ridden fanart that spurred me along... and thanks C for your endless encouragement.

Felix tries his best for a year.

After the war ends, it takes them a few months to settle everything out and rearrange every system of government in Fodlan. It takes Felix by surprise when he's asked to return to Fraldarius as the head of his house and Duke. Turns out, tool of the archbishop isn't a long-term career unless your name is Seteth.

So Felix goes home and, in his defense, tries his best for a year. He tries to go to councils and make decisions, he tries to listen to his constituents, he tries to keep them safe from roaming bandits and Empireless soldiers looking for a fight. He tries to only get in fights during his regularly scheduled training. He's unsurprised to find he hates all of it.

Felix feels alone in Fraldarius despite being surrounded by advisors and extended family members all day long. The letters from his friends, few as they are, keep him sane.

Ingrid's are the best. They read like reports but are full of gossip about going-ons in the Monastery and politics across the continent. She's elated when she's made Captain of the Knights of Seiros, furious when Ashe suddenly leaves their order, frustrated that Annette continues to teach at the Fhirdiad’s school of sorcery instead of dedicating her time to Garreg Mach and delighted by Mercedes’ missionary work reconciling with the Western and Eastern Churches and healing the scars of Fodlan. 

Sylvain's letters go straight in the fire; he reminiscences about their academy days and dreams up memories of dead men Felix doesn't want to think about.

It's hard to answer Mercedes and Annette, who ask him how he is so sincerely every letter. He's fine, he says, no, he still hasn't visited Fhirdiad, no, he doesn't mind being home. At least no one is buried here. Knights dying in the service of the Kingdom are buried at the King's castle.

He receives a single letter from Ashe on his birthday, with no return address.

***

Sylvain threatens to visit every letter he sends, so it's almost a blessing when, after several lonely months in Fraldarius, he finally arrives, retinue in tow. 

Felix tells himself he sees the same desperation in Sylvain's eyes that he sees in the mirror and that's why he kisses him. Besides, haven't they been on the edge of this for years? He’s sure Sylvain reaches for him first, but it’s Sylvain who makes a noise of surprise when Felix pulls him down by his collar, and Sylvain who doesn't waste his time getting his hands under Felix's clothes.

It's as easy as breathing, thinks Felix, who's been holding his breath for ten long years. It all makes sense, he assures himself, when nothing has made sense since seeing Dimitri's cold, unseeing eyes. It takes his mind off of things, just for a moment, even if he can't forget anything.

At least Sylvain doesn't hesitate. He presses himself into Felix hard enough to leave an impression.

They spend most of the month of Sylvain's visit in bed.

***

Felix doesn't try as hard the next year. He does what's required of him, but exists from moment to moment, waiting for Sylvain to come to visit. He becomes sluggish, tired Duke Fraldarius.

Sylvain alone can burn away the chaff and leave Felix feeling like himself again. Where Sylvain touches chars and sloughs away, leaving Felix is grow a new skin every few months. He hates when he grows back into the skin of the Duke. 

He’s not much for religion, but he wonders what the Goddess would think.

***

Felix, just once, two years after moving home, tells Sylvain how he really feels about it.

"Then leave," Sylvain says, stretched out naked in Felix's bed. "Stop being determined to make yourself miserable."

You're one to talk, Felix thinks, idly running his fingers up his partner's thigh. He remembers Sylvain endlessly chasing women only to make them break up with him just to prove he was unlovable. "Where would I go?" he says, instead of starting a fight. 

Sylvain grabs his hand and uses it to pull him close. "That tickles,” and then, “come live with me."

Felix considers Sylvain's body, so different to his own. Sylvain’s strength is tightly knit close to his bones, making him lithe and ropey. His scars are the pit marks where stray arrows have hit or the patches were thunder and fire have stripped away skin. In battle, Sylvain rides in, sending the enemy into a frenzy and retreating again. Felix marches tirelessly forward, cutting down the people in his path and catching all their cuts and slices. It shows in the long stripes of scar where he didn't make it back to a healer in time. 

The worst wound was short but deep. A dagger that caught him unawares across the face in their final battle. He'd lost the top half of his ear and a scar that ran along his cheekbone. Mercedes had held her hands to his bleeding face, crying out when the magic spluttered in her hands. Sorry, he'd said. He’d wondered, lying on the cold stone floor, if Dimitri would be waiting for him on the other side. 

Felix rests his head against Sylvain's chest and listens to his beating heart. From a purely practical standpoint, it is much easier to be in love with someone who is living.

"Ok," he says.

***

He makes his cousin the custodian of Castle Fraldarius and all its various duties, tells her to call her Duchess and runs off with Sylvain. It's all very easy, which should be his first sign that things are going wrong.

Instead, he joins Sylvain in the bedroom, but not the boardroom. He meets the Gautier soldiers at the Sreng border to fight off interlopers. But Sylvain is making peace, the Archbishop brokering a new relationship in the wake of their broken country. He trains and finds he gathers a motley group of Gautiers- younger cousins, cousins of cousins and the like- who want to be like him when they grow up. _ The Gautier weapon is a lance, _he remembers Sylvain telling him earnestly when they were younger before proceeding to kick his ass with one, their brothers laughing in the background.

But that's fine, traditions are meant to be broken. Which is why Aegis rots somewhere in a basement in Fraldarius. Felix needs no shield but the blade of his sword.

Their biggest fight, somewhat expectedly, comes on the anniversary of the end of the war. Sylvain begs him to come to the memorial with him and when Felix tries to explain how he won't, why he just can't, the words catch in his throat and become meaningless noise that he throws at Sylvain. Felix refuses and Sylvain goes.

It's not until later that night that he recognises the look in Sylvain's eyes. The fear and desperation not to be alone with one's ghosts.

The day the retinue is due back Felix takes off into the forests of Faerghus. If nothing else he'll find an unlucky group of bandits.

He returns to House Gautier bleeding and battered. He comes into Sylvain's arms and tells himself he feels better and that it's fine. Sylvain accepts this in lieu of an apology and they don’t speak about it again.

This becomes the pattern. They fight, Sylvain gives up or in and Felix runs, throwing himself against every sharp thing he can find until he can barely stand and returns, telling himself it's fine.

***

The letter from Ashe finds its way to House Gautier in the summer of the next year. Sylvain and Felix have survived a winter and a spring orbiting each other in a terrible, doomed trajectory. Felix knows neither of them have the guts to say anything about it.

Ashe's letter asks Felix for help, the cryptic kind, no details within and tells him where they can meet, for the next seven days only.

He won't go, Felix tells himself. He won't rush off into trouble again. He'll sort things out here first. What he knows about Ashe is so little and so long ago. They were close, for a moment in the Academy, but Ashe was close to no one in the war. He fought for Dimitri, always, until their professor took him, broken and screaming from the battlefield. He'd haunted the monastery after that, pale and dangerous.

No, Felix thinks, it’s better to stay. 

***

On the other hand, Felix muses not a day later, there's not much holding him here. His suspicions are confirmed when he goes to pack his belongings and finds they fit in one saddle bag. Almost two years living in House Gautier and everything is still Sylvain's. Sylvain's home, Sylvain's friends, Sylvain's bed… Felix has no claim to anything. Nothing to tie him down.

He shaves, gingerly around the scar on his cheek and braids his hair back, the way Ingrid taught him, better for riding. 

Sylvain catches him at the stables, admiring the view over the forest estate. He watches Felix load up the saddle. Felix's horse, Felix's sword, Felix's armour… He’s not a sentimental packer.

When they face each other, Felix can see the hints of his oldest friend hidden in the features of an overworked Margrave. The differences are stark between them. Sylvain's first wrinkles are the laugh lines around his mouth, Felix's are creases from frowning on his forehead.

"You look tired," Felix says. He's used to Sylvain reaching out, pulling him in. Sylvain shrugs, arms folded over his chest.

"I haven't been sleeping," he shows Felix a wry smile, wary at best. That much is true; Felix guards a lonely bed at night. If Sylvain is sleeping, it’s somewhere else. 

"I'm leaving," Felix says, lacking any other response. 

Sylvain laughs, "yeah, I can see that!" He looks like he wants to be sad, reaches for anger, but gives up on both. He shakes his head. "Are you coming back?"

I'd rather die first, Felix thinks. In his youth, he wouldn't hesitate to say such things out loud. He'd cut and hurt with his words until he'd whittled his friends down to… one. This one. He holds his tongue. 

"Probably not for a while," Felix says, placing a foot in a stirrup and swinging himself over the horse. Sylvain nods and doesn't say anything. The horse whinnies as Sylvain runs his hand along its long face. But Sylvain doesn't reach for him, for Felix.

Felix expects, even as he leads his horse out the gate, even as he breaks into a gallop, that Sylvain will call out or appear by his side. He didn't mention the promise or convince him to stay. Felix holds reins loose and let's the horse run and feels the sting of being let go. 

***

He travels South, avoids Castle Fraldarius and Fhirdiad until he hits the border of Blaiddyd territory. Of course, without the Kingdom of Faerghus, none of this means anything. Just little packets of land divvied up amongst the Archbishop’s supporters. 

Fodlan is united, stamped with the bootprint of the Church.

***

Felix finds his way to the tavern mentioned in Ashe’s letter. He’s ridden hard and rested little and it’s late in the evening by the time he pushes open the reinforced doors. The tavern is mostly empty, as well-lit as it can be by candelabra and smells of old beer and wood-smoke. He scans the room, taking note of every person in the room including the bartender. She’s middle-aged and looks tired. She favours him with a smile and he nods in return.

“Wow,” a familiar voice says, startling him though he tries not to show it, “you actually came.”

Felix looks around to see a wide-eyed Ashe smiling up at him from a nearby table. He has the signs of a finished meal in front of him and a half-drunk glass of beer. His hands are hovering over a messy deck of cards that he clears away as Felix sits. The barkeep brings him over a glass of ale and he exchanges a few coins with her.

Ashe has watched the whole scene in silence and when Felix looks at him he feels as if he’s being assessed. Felix cocks an eyebrow at him in question and Ashe grins.

“How have you been? Seems that being a Duke didn’t quite agree with you.” 

Felix shrugs and sips his beer. “Not particularly.” 

“And since then?” Ashe asks leadingly. Felix looks in the space over Ashe’s shoulder. Thoughts of Sylvain and the ruins of what he's left behind conjure up an unusual feeling in his chest. He changes the subject. 

“I’m more interested in what you’ve been up to. Your letter was pretty cryptic.”

Ashe laughs, “yes, I suppose it was. Sorry, I’m not much for letter writing.”

_ That much is obvious _, Felix thinks. Ashe seems like he’s waiting for Felix to say something or console him, but Felix won’t give him the pleasure. 

“To be honest, Felix, I could use your help,” Ashe says, after a moment. “It seems since the roaming bands of Empire soldiers have finally been put down, bandits are getting more and more forward. There’s a quite nasty group that are squatting in Castle Gaspard.”

Ashe stops to take a drink and let it settle in. Felix doesn’t need much more to put it all together. 

“I don’t think I can take them all on my own,” Ashe admits, smiling regretfully. 

“Okay,” Felix says, without hesitation. 

“Okay?”

“I’ll go,” Felix replies and takes a long drink of his own. When he looks at Ashe again, the other man is neither smiling or frowning, merely watching him in contemplation. Felix tries to match his eye contact, but after a few moments he feels unnerved and looks away. His eyes are drawn back and he find Ashe struggling to say something.

“Thank you,” he manages. “It means… a lot to me.” 

Felix rates this as the biggest understatement of the year, but he doesn’t want to make a whole deal out of it. He coughs and mutters something about it not being an issue. Ashe smiles again, brightly in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re a good person,” he comments. Felix snorts in derision and shakes his head. There’s so much wrong with that statement that he doesn’t even know where to begin. 

"I always thought you were pretty cool in the Academy," Ashe continues, determined on his path now, "handsome too."

Felix doesn't blush, he's outgrown that by about a decade. His hand drifts unconsciously to the scar across his left cheek that's taken out half the ear on that side. "That so?" he says, disbelieving.

Ashe hums in agreement, taking a drink from his glass. When he places it down he runs a finger around the rim idly. Felix inhales sharply, he has a feeling he knows what’s coming next. "So, what happened with Sylvain?"

Felix freezes over. He realises, as it rises up again, that it's shame he feels when he thinks about Sylvain. His gut reaction is that it isn’t fair, he shouldn’t have to feel this way. When the feeling percolates a little longer he starts second guessing himself.

"He's a bit like the sun, isn't he?" Ashe fills in the silence. He's starting down into his glass, eyes unfocused, smiling. "All bright smiles, blistering heat, but so distant."

Felix thinks this is a solid assessment, but it's so difficult to even picture Sylvain's face let alone contemplate his disposition that he merely shrugs. Ashe is watching him carefully, eyes steady in their gaze. Felix isn't one to back away from a fight a second time, so he stares right back.

"You," Ashe says, "you're more like..."

“Darkness?" Felix interrupts archly. Ashe snorts with laughter, breaking his composure for the first time all evening. It takes him a moment to get himself back under control, brushing his hair from his eyes and wiping his mouth with the back of his hands. Felix looks away from Ashe's lips, feeling foolish. He's sure Ashe has seen right through him now that he's revealed his sense of self-importance. He's startled with Ashe speaks again.

"You're like the moon. Cold, but always orbiting, never far away. And you reflect back anything that gets thrown at you."

Ashe is smiling an insincere smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's watching again, breaking up the parts of Felix with his eyes. Felix feels uncomfortably warm under his jacket. He takes a long drink from his glass and tries to forget Ashe laughing at him. 

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" Felix finally says. When he thought of it, it sounded sharp like a reprimand, but he's lost his venom somewhere and it comes out honest and desperate.

Ashe grins and Felix can picture the feather peeking out of the cat's mouth. "I already told you I liked you." 

They're silent until Ashe finishes his drink. He puts his empty tankard down on the table decisively, "well that's me."

As he stands, he leans across the table into Felix's space and for a moment, Felix thinks he's going to be invited upstairs with the other man.

"See you in the morning!" Ashe smiles sweetly and brushes past him. He leaves, trailing the sound of footfalls up the stairs to the rooms in the back. Felix scowls, unsure how to feel and clenches his hands around his glass. It’s a lie that Ashe said he liked him, Felix thinks, replaying the conversation in his mind, and a cruel thing to say regardless.

He hated being accused of brooding, often by Sylvain, in his Academy days and after, but there's no other way for him to describe his actions for the rest of the night. Finally, he's the last patron in the tavern and the barkeep looks exasperated but too polite to say anything. Felix can take a hint. He tips well, he can afford that at least, and retires to his room. 

***

Felix wakes in the middle of the night, disoriented. He reaches out for his bed partner and finds the other pillow cold. Oh, he thinks, he's found somewhere else to sleep again. Felix curses himself, he should have made the effort to invite Sylvain to bed. Dragged him here if necessary. He hates that he can't be honest, that he pushes his lover away. He curls up, pulling the other pillow towards him and breathes deeply the scent of it. He wonders if he cried too much as a child and now as an adult, he's run dry. Or maybe that part of him is broken too.

In the morning, he wakes again, more confused when his luxurious master bed is swapped for a single cot and blanket. He struggles out of the sheets and hates himself all over again.

***

Ashe has no interest in a leisurely speed of travel, but is also not one to rush ahead either. The pace he sets puts Felix on edge, not least because the territory they make their way through is so familiar and nostalgic to him, but Ashe shows no hesitation in marching right through.

Felix likes to ride fast and leave no time for ruminating, but Ashe is often lost in thought, breaking out of his inner dialogue to draw Felix in occasionally. Each time startles Felix which never seems to not amuse Ashe.

"Do you have a library?" Ashe asks, late in the morning.

"What?" 

"Is there a library," Ashe explains patiently, "in Castle Fraldarius?"

Felix frowns. It's hard for him to reconcile anything in that castle as his. It's his cousin's and if not hers, then it belongs to a couple of dead men in a crypt still guarding their king. He shakes the thought from his head and realises that it looks like he’s giving Ashe an answer. “Yes, not a particularly well-stocked one.”

“That’s what I miss most about Garreg Mach,” Ashe says wistfully, “I could spend hours in that library. I mean, I’m pretty sure I did.” Ashe chuckles to himself.

“Why did you leave?”

Ashe looks at him sideways, face unreadable. “You know, for someone who hates answering questions about himself, you sure like asking them.”

If words alone could dismount a man, Felix would be falling off his horse. He tries not to react outwardly, but knows he fails when Ashe smiles. “Sorry,” Felix manages after a moment. Ashe is unperturbed. 

“Not everything is about books,” Ashe responds, seemingly answering Felix’s question in the end anyway. He waits, but Ashe doesn’t elaborate. 

“It seems like it used to be, for you,” Felix stumbles through his words. He hates starting off on the back foot and now this whole conversation has managed to get him all twisted around. In a swordfight, he’d be at best head over arse and at worst, dead. “Books and knights.”

Ashe’s smile glazes over. “Guess I just wanted to give that all up and live in a forest, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.”

Felix huffs. He doesn’t think Ashe is up to any criminal activity on the side, but honestly, it’s been so long since he’s seen him, anything is possible. Ashe takes one look at the expression on his face and bursts out laughing, doubling over in the saddle. 

When he laughs he looks like a child again. Felix has a sudden memory of a fishing tournament. Caspar flailing in the shallows, still yelling about hooking the biggest fish he’d ever seen while Raphael reached in to draw him out, stumbling and falling himself. And Ashe bent over with laughter watching it all from the side. 

Felix feels stung, his past hot on his heels and his heart racing. Ashe tips his head back, taking a deep breath to calm himself and the sunlight catches his throat. Felix focuses on the shadow of his Adam’s apple and the scent of pine trees. The smell of blood and the rising bile retreats.

“Well,” Ashe is grinning again, teasing, “if I were a master thief, you’d only have yourself to blame. You were the one who encouraged me to pursue my goals and be myself.”

“In moderation, if I recall,” Felix mumbles, suddenly embarrassed. Ashe looks taken aback and then breaks out in giggles all over again.

***

They cross a river and come around the entrance to a valley to find themselves walking into a sprawling village. It’s mid-afternoon, but this deep in the mountains, the cold sets in early, even in the summer months. A gaggle of children spot them riding in and run deeper into the houses, shouting for attention. 

“They know me here,” Ashe explains, dismounting smoothly to lead his horse amongst the plots of vegetables and roaming chickens. A middle-aged woman emerges from the largest building, wiping her hands on an apron. She beams at Ashe and holds her arms out for an embrace he easily gives. 

Ashes introduces him as a friend and not as a Duke for which Felix is grateful. She runs the tavern and inn and is already refusing the payment Ashe is insisting on for the night’s stay. For the trouble, Felix would have just as happily slept on the forest floor, but he doesn’t speak up. A boy, grinning without his front two teeth comes and collects the reins of his horse, taking him to the attached stables. Ashe smiles at Felix reassuringly, but Felix keeps his sword on him anyway.

He spends a few minutes assessing the village. It seems quiet, peaceful even. It puts Felix on edge. Ashe doesn’t seem to notice. He and the innkeeper are discussing the comings and goings of various people in nearby villages and it’s tedious and boring. 

Felix wanders away from the conversation Ashe is engrossed in. Behind the inn is a small, squat building. On the front side of the building there are large glass windows, and curiously, someone has built another glass panel into the flat plane of the roof. A little further away, there are two odd domes, wide at the bottom and tapering to a chimney. He recognises them as kilns, though he’s never seen one in real life before and watches them steadily puffing out smoke. It’s warm even as he walks near. 

There’s an unusual sound coming from within the workshop and he knocks on the ajar door, before pushing it open. A man is hunched over a moving device. When he pushes on a pedal with his foot, the wide circle on the table above it spins, taking it’s quarry of clay with it. He shapes it carefully and slowly with his hands. His assistant, a teenager with the same thick black hair as him, watches patiently over the craftsman’s shoulder. Felix locks eyes with them and they shake their head once, wordlessly asking him to remain silent.

Silent he stays, watching as the clay shifts and comes to life in the man’s hands. He draws it up and out, one hand inside as he huffs and presses the pedal once more. Felix is entranced by the gentle actions of the large calloused hands for several long minutes. Sun streams through the window in the ceiling, perfectly illuminating his work and every mote in the air of the workshop. Eventually, an eternity ends and the man leans back, satisfied, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and looks up to smile at Felix. The young assistant swoops in, delicating lifting the completed bowl away and taking it back to the shelves in the back where rows and rows of bowls and plates and cups rest.

“Welcome sir, have a look around, if it pleases you,” the craftsman says. Felix feels he is being teased, perhaps even patronised. Still, he makes a show of inspecting the pottery on display and the workshop in its entirety. The craftsman and his assistant watch him patiently. Eventually Felix feels obligated to comment. 

“These are… very impressive, your work is quite fine,” Felix comments, aiming for gracious and hitting awkward, “a workshop like this is not how I expected.”

“And what did you expect, my lord?” The craftsman is trying not to smile and his assistant is failing, covering their mouth with their hand. If Felix could blush, he probably would at this point. Instead, he just feels unpleasantly warm under his collar. 

“I’m not sure, even in a master’s workshop, I thought I’d see a lot more broken pottery?” 

The potter stands, brushing the dry clay dust from his hands. “Mostly, I just remodel what gets broken. Unless it’s been in the kiln.”

“And if it’s been in the kiln?”

“Ha!” The man exclaims, “nothing goes into the kiln until it’s perfect! Everything else?” He lifts a plate from the shelf and holds it out to Felix’s inspection. To Felix it looks fine so he shrugs. The craftsman shrugs also and drops it to the floor. The crash shatters the plate and both Felix and the potter’s assistant flinch in surprise. 

“Everything else, we’ll keep working on.” With an exhalation and a grunt, he reaches down to pick up the pieces of the plate and carries them over to a large barrel in the corner. Using his empty hand, he lifts off the lid and hands it to Felix. Inside, the barrel is lined with linen and full to the brim with water. At the bottom he can see very soggy clay. The craftsman scatters the broken pieces on top and replaces the barrel lid. “No point wasting something good. We’ll rework it ‘til we get it right. Sometimes I think I’ve spent years trying to make just the one perfect plate!” 

He laughs, a full-bellied chortle. “Old clay, dry clay, something you haven’t touched in years, well, if you’re willing to get your hands dirty and put in a bit of time, who knows? The next thing you might make could be your masterpiece.” 

Felix surveys the room again, the identical perfect pieces, the fresh clay kept moist in linen sheets and the old clay soaking to become new again. He sees the parts of the cycle fall into place, the kiln as the final chapter in the repetitive journey. 

“You certainly are a master of your art,” he says, truly appreciative.

The craftsman beams and bows. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your work,” Felix bows in return, sweeping one arm under his chest.

There is a knock at the door and they both rise. Ashe’s inquisitive face pokes around the frame. “There you are,” he smiles. Felix nods again to the craftsman and turns to leave.

“I’m afraid I have an apprentice at the moment,” the craftsman calls after him, eyes twinkling, “but perhaps in a few years, I’ll be looking again?”

Felix smiles, chest warm and brushes past Ashe in the doorway into the cooler air outside. 

“What was that?” Ashe asks quizzically, matching his stride, “are you looking to change careers?”

“No,” Felix says, “I don’t think so.”

Ashes stares at him a little longer, trying to undo the puzzle with his eyes. “Well okay. Let’s have some dinner, shall we?”

***

The inn is lively after the sun goes down. The farmers come in from their crops and pastures and families seem to come and go. The arrival of Ashe and Felix seems to have brought a festival-like atmosphere to the village. The innkeeper plies them with generous portions of rustic, homemade food and cloudy cider. She joins them with dinner of her own.

“Your friend Ashe is something of a hero around here,” she confides in Felix, smiling broadly. Ashe groans, his face going a deep crimson and he buries his head in his hands. Felix is smirking before he even realises it. “He saved my daughter.”

Cruelly, Felix says, “please, tell me everything in excruciating detail,” as a muffled moan emerges from Ashe’s arms. The innkeeper grins and leans back in her seat, making herself comfortable before starting her story. 

“My little girl,” she begins, gesturing to the young woman in an apron manning the bar, “was taken by a group of bandits a few moons back. Honestly, I thought she was done for. The kind we get around here don’t often take prisoners.”

Felix looks at the young woman who is shyly attempting to make eyes at Ashe, who unfortunately for her, has not managed to take his eyes off the table. 

“Luckily, Ashe was passing through the village and heard me a-wailin’. Well, he took off like a man possessed. He tracked those bandits for a whole day and night until he found their camp. Hiding in the trees, he spotted the man who was their leader.”

The room has gotten quieter around them as more people are paying attention and the innkeeper has hit her stride. A gaggle of children are gathering around Felix’s knees, silently listening. 

“Ashe used his mighty fine skills with the bow to make it seem like arrows were coming from all different directions, but,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “none of them hit a man, oh no, these were warning shots. Then he called out ‘I have you surrounded, surrender now’. The bandits were panicking now ‘what do you want?’, they all called out ‘we can give you all our loot, all our treasure’, but our hero said back ‘let the girl go and you can keep your ill-gotten gains’.”

Felix thinks, I would have killed them all, it would have been much faster. 

“But the leader of the bandits is a wily one and he grabbed my sweet babe, growling ‘come out or the girl gets it’. Ashe couldn’t see a way out of this one, so he stepped out of the shadows, hands up in the air. Unlucky for the bandit leader, he had his trusty bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. One arrow is all it takes. Right to the forehead.” The innkeeper puts a finger between her eyebrows and crosses her eyes. The children gasp and giggle. 

Ashe raises his head and locks eyes with Felix. They stay like that, watching each other wordlessly. Ashe’s expression is unreadable with his mouth hidden by the sleeve of his jacket. 

“Ashe turned to the rest of the bandits and said ‘if you value your lives, run’.” 

Felix smiles to himself, this part, if nothing else, is blatantly untrue: Ashe has never managed a decent threat, even in the midst of war. 

“He returned the next morning with my little angel in tow, safe and sound, in one piece. Plus, all those foolish bandits ran off leaving their treasures behind. Well, their loss is our gain!” She howls with laughter and the room laughs along with her. “Now, Ashe, if you’re ever looking for a wife…”

Someone in the room wolf-whistles, while the innkeeper’s daughter reddens and squeaks in protest. Ashe sits up slowly, smiling. “Sorry ma’am, I don’t think I’m the marrying type.”

This causes everyone to laugh more, the innkeeper clapping her hands together in delight. It’s clear to Felix this is the natural conclusion of the story, the desired punchline. Ashe catches Felix’s eye again and after a moment, with slow deliberation, winks. 

***

In battle, Ashe follows the same pattern every time he time he strikes. First he fixes a target clear in his mind, then he pulls an arrow from his quiver, dragging a finger through the fletching and twisting it around. The arrow makes a full circle in the air before coming to rest, nocked on the string, its head against the wood of the bow. The cock feather tickles his cheekbone. Now, he looks away, sometimes turns his back to the enemy and exhales as he pulls the string taut. Now he moves, the tip of the arrow lines up with the target, still fixed in his mind and the bow releases while Ashe gasps out his held breath. 

In the next breath he could do it all again.

Felix watches enraptured while Ashe practices again and again on a dummy. In the early morning chill, Ashe had risen from their shared inn room, and made his way downstairs to construct the makeshift target from an old shirt and some straw. At first, Felix had watched this groggily from the room’s window, but his curiosity got the better of him. They had acknowledged each other with a nod, before Ashe lost himself in the flow of his practice again.

When he doesn't fire- the wind changes, the dummy shifts from the previous impact- he twirls the arrow by the feathers back to the quiver again. The arrow must always spin through the air, like a promise to find its target safe and secure. On the inhale, the dance begins again.

This practice betrays the strength in Ashe's arms, able to draw the bow again and again without shaking. He’s wearing an undershirt only now, it’s easy to see the muscles of his back pull taut like the string where he’s sweated the cotton see-through. 

On the battlefield, Felix never noticed any of these things, his thoughts affixed to the edge of his blade and the spray of blood it produces. He knows he is graceful, can run through the patterns of his sword slicing through air with the same practiced ease. But the carvery he produces is not nearly as beautiful as Ashe’s well-placed arrow.

When the quiver runs empty, Ashe seems to remember that Felix is there watching and smiles, honest and bashful. Felix’s hands itch, for a blade, or something else, he isn’t sure.

***

The innkeeper serves them a heartier breakfast than Felix is used to having, and gives the impression she’d just keep feeding them all day if they didn’t stop her. Polishing off a mug of coffee, Ashe says, “before we get to Gaspard, there’s somewhere I want to visit.”

Felix shrugs in acquiense. It’s Ashe’s job after all and Felix doesn’t have a deadline for getting it done. 

They’re travelling light so it’s easy to pack up and go, once they fend of the innkeeper’s second breakfast advances.

***

Ashe is quiet for the morning’s travel, staring straight ahead in his saddle. It feels so unusual that Felix briefly wishes he had Ashe’s skill in starting random conversations, but he can’t think of a single thing to talk about. It’s just past midday, the sun high overhead, beaming down, when Ashe pulls up on the reins of his horse and slows to a stop. They are, as far as Felix is concerned, in the middle of nowhere. He slides from his saddle, following Ashe, full of questions.

In a clearing just off the road, there is a small chapel, somewhat overgrown on the outside. If Ashe is surprised, he doesn’t show it, so Felix can only assume this is where he meant to come. On closer inspection, despite the trails of ivy growing up the stone sides, the whole area looks well cared for. The gravel path is orderly and the grass trim over the churchyard. There are flowers at every polished gravestone. Ashe forges ahead, moving creeping vines off the door before pushing it open. 

Felix hesitates. The day is warm and the sun is nice, in a wan Faerghus way. He could stay out here with the horses, while Ashe takes care of his business inside. Birds in the bushes chirp out their song and the bushes rustle with life. The quiet, peacefulness of the place makes him itch under his armor and he follows Ashe inside. 

Inside, the chapel is tidy and undisturbed, rows of pews unused for some time. Dust has settled everywhere but the path up the aisle. Felix stops automatically by an alcove at the door, at the shrine to the dead, the way his father always did. There are candles, unlit, at the memorial for the King and the Prince. His breath shudders to a stop, remembering the cathedral in Fhirdiad where the memorial to the Prince screams at him for the attention he can't bear to give it. Everything unresolved lies under that headstone. But Dimitri's cold, broken body will never needle him into conversation again.

Felix looks to Ashe near the altar and finds his head bowed not in prayer, but crying freely, anger etched into his brow. His hands are clenched and shaking by his sides. This is not the first time Felix has seen Ashe cry, and he feels no more equipped to handle it than the last time, several years ago. Felix is not tender, but he tries to be gentle with the hand he rests on Ashe’s shoulder. For a moment it seems that Ashe will throw him off or lash out, but instead he slumps under the touch, the anger momentarily draining from him. 

"She took _ everything _from me," Ashe forces his words out, the venom gone, leaving him hollow and muted.

Felix turns away to the stained glass - Saint Seiros descends sword in hand to walk among the mortals, her green hair wraps around her naked torso, while the other saints raise up a cloth to cover her lower half. He’s not a believer, but the more he loses in life, the more compelling it is to believe there’s some reason why. Ashe is scrubbing at the tears on his cheeks, the embers in his eyes not quite extinguished. If Rhea wasn't already dead, Ashe would make an excellent successor to Edelgard's mad crusade to destroy the Church and what they stood for.

But Edelgard had fallen too. And all had bent the knee to the Goddess and their former teacher. Byleth the immortal, the untouchable and unstoppable, Fodlan's uniter. 

That ceremony had been the last time Felix had seen Ashe, silent in supplication. It had been obvious how many were missing from their Academy days. The rush of memories (the smell of blood, the quiet sobbing) rises up in Felix and he draws back. Ashe lets him go. It's better outside the church, where he can shut out Dimitri's face and Edelgard's final words. He waits for Ashe in the garden, hunched over his knees, counting out his shaky breaths. 

When Ashe reappears, they mount their horses in silence and travel South, neither raising conversation.

***

The days grow warmer in increments as they travel South. Ashe regains his good humour within a day, but his laughter rings hollow to Felix’s ears. Still, they press on, with a job to complete.

***

The ambush comes at dawn. They haven't been keeping a watch overnight; years at war and resting on the road has made them both light sleepers. Felix opens his eyes at the first twig snapping under footfall and looks across the campsite to find Ashe staring back at him. He nods, head shifting only slightly and reaches for his sword. They move in sync, leaping from bedrolls and find themselves back to back, weapons drawn. Ashes quiver is pinched between his knees, Felix notices. He rolls his wrist, the sword twitching in his hand, to warm up the stiff joints. The set up is not perfect, Felix thinks, but they've been in much worse.

Realising their sprung, one of the bandits smiles grimly. “Now that’s a gentleman’s sword and a gentleman’s saddle. Hand it all over and we’ll spare you the humiliation of us taking it from you.”

“No,” Felix says, “I don’t think so.” He raises his so-called gentleman’s sword to attack.

Ashe doesn't hesitate, choosing his targets and firing smoothly. Felix steps away from him, giving them both space to maneuver and a bandit trips through the campsite, landing a lucky knick on unsuspecting Felix's leg. Felix’s blade has already found the bandit’s neck before he realises he’s hurt. 

The pain from the shallow cut sings through his body, as shocking today as his first childhood accident. With a hiss. he lets his sword join the chorus, slicing through the enemies around him. Between the two of them, they make short work of their ambushers. There’s only so far desperation and a few decent weapons can get an average man against trained soldiers. 

When the last bandit turns to run, Ashe calmly nocks an arrow and fires before Felix can finish a thought. The arrowhead makes a solid thunk as it finds its target, square in the back. Felix wipes his blade clean on a clean bit of a corpse’s shirt. He begins pulling their dead enemies to the side of the clearing, while Ashe retrieves arrows. Felix’s body still thrums with adrenaline, there’s no point settling down to rest now. His thoughts race, undeterred by the manual labour. 

“The innkeeper’s story about the bandit group,” Felix begins, unsure of what he wants to say. Ashe laughs as if reading his mind.

“Somewhat false, I’m afraid,” Ashe says, shrugging his shoulders, “I killed them all when they wouldn't surrender the girl. She was already unconscious, actually I was sure she was dead and I admit, I saw red.” 

He pauses in his work and they watch each other across their campsite, fouled by the fight.

“I wouldn’t kill thieves,” Ashe continues, “but things are so dire, everyone is taking chances. It hard to tell the killers from the innocent.”

“You lied to the villagers.”

“I just let them believe what they already believed. Nobody wants a murderer for a hero.” Ashe shivers suddenly in the cool dawn air and Felix notices for the first time the gash along his arm. Even Ashe seems oblivious to the wound.

“Ashe, you’re bleeding,” Felix crosses the campsite in a few steps and takes a hold of his injured arm. He winces, looking down at his sleeve in surprise. The cut is right where the padding of his jacket is the thinnest. Felix retrieves a discarded cloak, his, he thinks and folds it into a square and presses it to the wound. His grip is firm, never gentle, and Ashe makes a noise of hurt in the back of his throat. He rests his forehead on Felix’s shoulder, but continues talking. 

“Don't forget Felix, I am a commoner, not a knight, nor a lord,” he twists his head slightly to catch Felix’s eye, “not matter how far from home he is. I can’t live up to someone’s noble ideals, I can only do things the way I can. It took me a long time to learn that.”

Felix says nothing, his heart, for some reason, is still beating out a loud tattoo against his ribcage. Ashe seems to be waiting for… something. Some response or reply or anything.

“This is deep,” he says, falteringly. “I’ll,” he trails off, miming a bandage. Ashe nods, standing straight again, albeit a little woozily. He drops the cloak and gingerly pulls his jacket off. In his pack, Felix finds several strips of clean linen, which he methodically begins to wrap around Ashe’s arm. Where his words fail him, he hopes his thoughts come through in his actions.

“It really hurts now,” Ashe hisses as Felix ties the bandage off. He smooths his thumbs across the linen, unwilling to take his hands away just yet and Ashe inhales, just loud enough for him to hear. “Felix?”

Things can't get any worse, so Felix kisses him. It takes Ashe by surprise, which means the angle is awkward and his attempts to reciprocate are clumsy. Ashe pushes him back, fingers clutched around Felix's collar.

"Shit, your timing is terrible," Ashe says, scowling but unable to hide the smile curling at his mouth. His cheeks are pink. Felix thinks this is infinitely better than how pale he looked only moments ago.

"Yeah," Felix says, surprising himself, "it's part of my charm."

Ashe reels him back in again.

***

They ride back to the village and the innkeeper tutts and frets over their wounds, plying them with vulneraries which she insists are free. Felix watches Ashe slip a sack of coins into the pocket of her apron when she's turned away.

Ashe leads them upstairs but is the one who hesitates at the threshold to their room. Felix shoves him through the doorway none to carefully and kicks the door closed behind him. He reaches for Ashe, pulling at the buckles of his armour. Ashe laughs and stills his hands, leaning in to kiss Felix once more.

In the bedroom, Ashe is deliberate and careful. He hovers over Felix, assessing him with a smile, looking for weaknesses. When his fingers finally find skin, he languishes in it, taking his time to explore. Felix can barely tolerate his gentle treatment.

"Stop teasing me," he snaps. Ashe's smile sharpens, like a cat with feathers at his lips. Felix can feel the jaws of the trap close slowly around him. Ashe presses his body down against Felix.

"What do you want, Felix?" Ashe asks, enjoying the way Felix squirms. He can't possibly answer the question. He wants closeness and intimacy, he wants to fuck and find release. He wants to know what Ashe wants from him, so he can just say that.

"No?" Ashe says after failing to pull a response from Felix. His fingers are making meaningless patterns on Felix's chest, the skin beneath covered in gooseflesh. Felix shakes his head in defeat. "That's fine."

Ashe leans to brush his lips against Felix's ear and orders him instead, "tell me what you need."

***

Later, Ashe says, "So, Sylvain?" Felix frowns, his face mashed comfortably into a pillow. He wonders if he’s an asshole or just emotionally constipated for not wanting to talk about this. If he doesn’t answer, however, Felix is sure Ashe will simply walk away. It’s what he’d do in his place. 

So Felix rolls over to stare at the ceiling. It’s not very interesting as far as ceilings go. “It wasn’t working out. I… don’t know what he wanted from me, but I don’t think I could give it to him. We were only very good at hurting each other.” And getting hurt for each other, he finishes in his head. There are some things, like childhood promises, he’s still not ready to share with anyone else.

“Did you ever ask him what he wanted?” Ashe asks. He rolls over to brush the fringe out of Felix’s eyes. Felix doesn’t have an answer to his question, or rather he does and it’s an unequivocal no. He’s been selfish this entire time, taking what he wanted - an excuse to leave Fraldarius, a person to have his back in a fight and a relationship without words. He frowns and Ashe’s fingers pause above his brow.

“You could really learn a thing or two about communication,” Ashe chuckles. Felix grunts in acquiesce, which makes Ashe laugh harder. “Did you two break it off?”

“I think so,” Felix answers, then pauses, “probably not properly.”

“Oh Goddess,” Ashe says and sits up in the bed. After the vulneraries, he’d taken the bandages off and now all that is left of his wound before is a pale pink line that will probably disappear in time also. “You should write him a letter.”

Felix makes a face. “Absolutely not. Just send him my sword if I die tomorrow.” Ashe reaches over and playfully swats Felix in the ribs. 

“You’re awful,” Ashe says, the picture of sincerity. Felix swings his legs over the side of the end, sitting forward, and begins to braid his hair again. Ashe doesn’t tell him not to joke about dying or promise to go by his side, the way his childhood friends would. Felix shifts to look at him over his shoulder. 

“Sorry.”

Ashe rolls his eyes and looks away, trying not to smile again. If it was anyone else, Felix can imagine them telling him to get his shit together. He makes a vow to himself that if he lives through another day, he’ll do his best to do just that.

***

They set off in the very early hours of the morning for the castle. In the end, they go on foot, but make good time through the dense forest regardless. Ashe is the sort who has eyes for this sort of thing and leads them to a vantage point overlooking the ramparts. In silence they set up a temporary camp for the day. It’s hard to make out any details of the castle in the pale morning light and this part of the Kingdom has always been prone to fog. Felix can just make out the bounce of torch light borne by patrolling guards. He stretches out his back, feeling the pops and crackles along his spine. 

He thinks of himself more suited to the kind of work where one rushes in to strike and makes decisions on the fly, but he’s content to play at scout for the day. Felix would never admit it out loud, but the presence of Ashe makes the concept of sitting around the woods a much more pleasant thought. He catches Ashe’s eye from the corner of his own and the other man smiles. In Felix’s growing catalogue, it’s one of his cold, determined smiles. He feels uneasy seeing it.

As the day grows brighter and warmer, Felix uses a spyglass to watch the castle closely. Ashe takes meticulous notes; filling a book with the frequency of which the guards change, how many individuals they can spot, what weapons they’re using. Something feels off to Felix. A pit has settled in his stomach that he can’t shake. It takes him several hours to finally notice that the sigil the guards where on their backs are not from the fallen Empire nor common bandits. 

He waits for their afternoon meal to bring it up with Ashe. 

“Were you going to tell me that Castle Gaspard was held by the Church of Seiros?”

Ashe pauses in his work, checking the fletchings on his arrows. He doesn’t look up. “This way you wouldn’t have had to _ fake _ ignorance should anything go awry.” 

Felix’s chest burns. When he was younger, it was so easy to lash out, to explode in rage. He is still full of the same white heat, but it’s tempered into a quiet smoulder as he ages. “And why,” Felix grits out, “are you going to war with the church? That obviously ends _ so _well.”

“It’s just one castle,” Ashe says petulantly. 

“I’m sure the knights will see it like that,” Felix snaps. Ashe finally looks at him, his face a mask of anger. 

“Castle Gaspard was Lonato’s home that they took from him and then, his family. They don’t get to have this. _ She _ doesn’t get to take this from me, too.” Ashe’s voice barely shakes, but his hands are clenched into fists on his lap. Felix can imagine the half-moon indents left in his palms by the passions spilling over. It all finally falls into place for Felix now.

_ She took everything from me. _Not Rhea, nor Edelgard, but the Goddess herself or rather her walking embodiment in the Archbishop, their former teacher. 

“What happened to you?” Felix asks, “You used to be so…” he trails off, unsure how to finish.

Ashe laughs bitterly. “You were so messed up from before you even met me you wouldn’t have noticed if I’d had two heads.” He pauses, giving his barbed comment time to sink in. “I really thought you’d get it. You were the only person who told me it was okay to be upset when Lonato died.”

He cannot argue against this. He can’t even tell him, how in the same position, he’d feel the same, act the same. 

Instead Felix stands, picking up his scabbard next to him. He’ll leave the other possessions - the bedroll, the rations, the spyglass even. Ashe can have them all. If he has a torch, the journey back through the woods won’t be so bad, even if the sun goes down while he’s walking.

“Where are you going?” Ashe scrambles up, surprised. 

“I’m leaving,” Felix says, “I won’t be a part of your death wish.” 

Ashe scowls and spits, “so you’ll walk away from me like you did His Highness.”

Felix says nothing, but something strange bubbles up inside his chest and he laughs. It sounds cruel to his own ears and Ashe flushes red. As he laughs he feels the breath leave his body until he is empty. The flood gates open and don’t shut until he’s entirely drained. Devoid of anything, he fixes Ashe with unwavering look.

“Fuck you, Ashe. Our almighty professor won’t spare your life twice. You’ll be executed just like your precious Lonato.”

There is a pregnant pause, a moment for them both to apologise and make good again. They don’t take it. 

Ashe tackles him and Felix hits the ground backwards. Branches snap beneath him and he is breathless and winded. He gets his hands up just in time for Ashe’s first punch. Neither of them are much for brawling, but time has not yet softened Ashe’s raw strength. Ashe headbutts him and the next crack that comes isn’t from the underbush. Felix gasps and spits blood causing Ashe to rear back momentarily. His blows come again and Felix lets him, waiting to get his hands up around Ashe’s collar. 

Everything with Ashe has been a risk so far and this is no different. He pulls and they go off balance, rolling sideways. They hit a slope and tumble, first together, then apart. Felix feels himself collecting twigs and leaf mulch as he rolls. He gets what feels like a mouthful of dirt and chokes it up. 

Ashe grabs for him again and this time Felix catches his hands. “You’re pretty good without a bow,” Felix manages to get out, but Ashe is too far gone to banter. His face is a mask of rage, his eyes cold and hard. Ashe tries to headbutt him again, tearing his hands from Felix’s grip, but Felix pulls back in time to evade him. He gets an elbow into Ashe’s gut and they inch apart to stagger to their feet. 

Felix waits for Ashe’s charge, taking the kidney punch to get his arm around Ashe’s neck. Ashe slams his palm into Felix’s chin and he sees stars. He gets his leg under Ashe’s and twists, throwing him to the ground. Ashe pulls him down with him. A gout of blood from Felix’s nose hits Ashe across the cheek. 

“Feel better yet?” Felix wheezes out. Pain is blooming across his face and his vision is hazy in the one eye. Ashe sobs beneath him, just the once.

“You asshole,” Ashe cries, “Felix, you utter asshole.”

Felix's timing is terrible, so he chooses this moment to pass out.

***

Felix comes to in a bed. He’s sore all over, but he reaches out with his right hand, without opening his eyes, and finds his sword next to him. Somehow he can tell that Ashe is by his side too. 

“Where are we?” he asks and Ashe laughs, a short bark. His voice is raspy from crying and maybe a broken rib.

“Lonato had a secret cabin not far from Castle Gaspard, I spent a lot of time here when I was young.”

“How-”

“I carried you here,” Ashe interrupts him. “You’re a lot heavier than you look.”

Felix opens his eyes properly, one eyelid only raises halfway. He looks at Ashe who winces. He must be a sight. The ceiling rafters above them are covered in cobwebs, but the bed is clean and warm.

“I broke your nose,” Ashe says, lifting his hand abortively towards his face. Felix reaches for his hand and wraps their fingers together. 

“You’re not special, Bernadetta once broke my nose.” 

Ashe’s smile falters and Felix curses himself for trying to make a joke. “I’m sorry, Ashe.” He tightens his grip on Ashe’s hand and Ashe squeezes back. 

“How did you know I wasn’t going to go in without you?” 

Felix shrugs. “You wouldn’t have asked me along in the first place if you really wanted to die trying to take the castle. Besides, you said you like me, you weren’t going to leave me dying in a forest.”

“You’re hardly dying,” Ashe quips back. He exhales and leans forward, resting his head on Felix’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Felix. I just, I don’t know what to do. I keep thinking, ‘this is my home’ and I get so worked up.”

They both fall silent. The quiet sounds of the woods outside and the old building creaking fill the space. Felix twists his hands to touch Ashe’s face. He wants to hold him closer or to drag him into bed to lie beside him. Ashe seems to read his mind, brushing his lips across Felix’s fingertips. He seems lost in his own head, thoughts far away. 

“I have an idea,” Felix finally says, breaking the spell. "But you're not going to like it."

"It couldn't hurt to trust you, this once," Ashe says wryly, nuzzling into the palm of Felix's hand. Felix props himself up on his elbow to kiss him then. The touch of their lips is gentle, but the pressure on his broken nose makes Felix hiss. He looks around the room, while he touches his face gingerly, wondering if he has a vulnerary in his pack. For an abandoned cabin, the place is tidy, decorated and looks well stocked.

“Wait,” Felix says “is this where you live _ now _?”

Ashe bits his bottom lip to stop himself from chuckling. “Well, that’s my secret out.”

***

Ashe is not laughing when Felix’s plan comes to fruition. In fact, he is almost certainly scowling. They are waiting outside Castle Gaspard and Felix wants to nudge him or press his thumb into the frown on Ashe’s face, but Sylvain is standing on his other side and it’s taking all his willpower not to just turn tail and run from the both of them. 

The treetops stir as the first of the pegasi and wyverns appear beyond the leaves. 

“Here comes the majesty of her immortal highness’ army,” Sylvain comments to no one in particular. Ashe’s scowl deepens. 

Seteth’s wyvern touches down first, but it’s Ingrid who dismounts her pegasus before him. She scans the clearing, the rest of her knights landing around her, and shakes her hair out of her helmet. Her icy demeanor softens when she looks across the three of them. When Seteth approaches, they all bow, Ashe included. It is no secret that his role as the Archbishop’s right hand continues and a poorly kept one that his involvement with her had more… romantic undertones than the previous.

With the formalities out of the way, Sylvain pulls Ingrid into a tight hug. Felix lets her hug him too. She pulls back to brush the hair out of his face and frowns at what she sees.

“I deserved it,” he shrugs and Sylvain scoffs behind him. Ashe hasn’t taken his eyes off Seteth. 

“You should have told me, I could have brought a healer,” Ingrid says, and turns away before he can retort to her scolding. “Ashe.”

“Ingrid, how are you?” Ashe smiles insincerely. She tilts her head in a non-committal way. Ingrid, the otherwise stoic and reasonable Captain of the Knights of Serios, is still holding a grudge against Ashe for turning down a place amongst their illustrious ranks. Though, Felix thinks, he probably wouldn’t be living in a cabin, beating up bandits and trying to get himself killed if he’d joined the Knights. Seteth clears his throat. 

“The Church and the Archbishop herself thanks you for bringing the gross misuse of funds by the diocese here to our attention, gentlemen,” Seteth says, holding the sheaf of letters in his hands that Felix and Ashe complied, “though I am interested to find out how you came across this information.” He looks to Ashe who meets his gaze steadily, giving away nothing.

“I know it’s not my jurisdiction,” Sylvain says smoothly, “but I’d heard rumours on the grapevine - as one does, and asked my two best men to look into it. As one does.”

“As one does,” Seteth echoes and if he doesn’t buy the story, he isn’t giving anything away. “Right, well, I suppose we ought to have a conversation with the bishop then.” 

He walks past them towards the Castle gates, Ingrid and her Knights in tow. Ashe raises an eyebrow at Felix and goes to follow Seteth’s entourage. 

“Hold up a moment, Felix,” Sylvain says and Felix falters on the spot. Sylvain isn’t smiling anymore, he looks tired, somehow worse than just a week ago. Felix swallows around the guilty lump in his throat. He’s dragged Sylvain into yet another one of his messes.

“Thank you for coming,” Felix manages to force out. Sylvain looks him over, appraisingly. 

“I’m just impressed you solved a problem using your words. _And _you asked for help.”

Felix shrugs, “I’m trying something new.”

Sylvain reaches out a gloved hand and brushes his fingers gently across the mottled bruises on his cheekbone. Felix’s breath catches, his chest tightening painfully. 

“Looks like it’s working,” Sylvain says dryly. 

“I--” Felix starts, but Sylvain cuts him off by pressing just a little firmer.

“Deserved it? I heard that already and I don’t believe a word of it.”

Felix is full of words, his head practically swimming with them. He knows this is his chance, possibly the last one. And yet everything he wants to say is trapped behind his teeth. 

“I can’t keep doing this, Felix,” Sylvain says first, and his voice is like a gutpunch. Felix reaches up and gently pulls Sylvain’s hand away. He keeps it between his own two hands.

“You’ve always been there for me,” Felix starts, “especially when,” he trails off, feels everything clogging up inside him again. 

“I know,” Sylvain says, and then, “I miss him too.” Felix doesn’t know if they’re talking about Dimitri, Glenn or his father. He wants to walk away, he wants to yell and scream and say something awful to Sylvain so he stops looking at him with such pity. He wants to break down and cry, like he did as a child, but he’s pushed away half the people who’d hold him in their arms and the rest are dead. 

"I love you," Felix forces out, feeling the words tear through his insides as they make their way out. He knows as he says them that he means to say goodbye. Sylvain sighs, not unkindly.

"I'm sorry, Felix. I acted very selfishly. I knew how you felt, but I wanted so badly to have a reason not to think about getting married or having kids. And conveniently, you always go along with whatever I suggest."

Felix is shocked and even more shocked when Sylvain wraps him in a hug suddenly. His arms tighten around Felix's shoulders and he buries his face in Felix's neck. Gooseflesh breaks out across his skin at the sudden closeness and his bruises groan in protest. Still, he pushes his hands under the thick cloak of Sylvain’s, pulling into his warmth.

"Let me be selfish a moment longer," Sylvain mumbles into his hair as Felix returns the embrace. "I don't want to be alone." 

"You don't need an excuse not to have children. Just stop being such a dick and anyone would marry you."

Sylvain laughs and Felix's shoulder blisters with his breath. "Will you marry me?"

"I'd rather die," Felix replies without hesitation, earning more laughter from the other man, "but I hear Ingrid is single."

Sylvain pulls back to look at him in horror. "Goddess, can you imagine? After everything I've put her through, I think she'd rather_ I _ died."

It's hard to let go, but eventually Felix manages to drop his arms back to his side. They hang, a little uselessly, Sylvain mirroring his posture. 

"Will you go home?" Sylvain asks. Felix thinks, unbidden, of the courtyard in Fhirdiad Castle, where he learnt to play swords. Where the memorial for everyone who died in the war, boar Prince included, quietly gathers dust. 

"I don't know," he answers and finds it honest. Felix exhales slowly, he feels as if he’s been holding it in a long time. He thinks, maybe, he could go anywhere and stop hiding from the dead. He'd like to see his father's grave, at least once. 

"Hey," Sylvain says softly, breaking his reverie, "I liked it when you asked me for help, you should do that more often."

Felix rolls his eyes at the teasing. "In return, write me when you need me. I'll be there."

Sylvain smiles, tight around the edges like the mask might break any moment. He doesn’t want to leave Sylvain alone, he doesn’t want to let go, but right now, it’s only thing he can do.

"Take care of Ashe, okay?"

"He mostly takes care of himself," Felix quips and when Sylvain squeezes him on the shoulder, he nods to show he knows what he means.

***

On his way into the castle, he passes Seteth giving a bishop a severe dressing down as Ingrid marches him and all his lackeys out the front doors. They look appropriately sheepish. As they pass Ingrid raises an eyebrow at him, which makes Felix thinks that if sticks around after this, she’s going to have a lot of questions for him. Felix briefly wonders if there’s somewhere he can hide from her. 

After a few steps, he stops and calls back to her. Her boots squeak on the marble as she turns.

“Have you ever seen a potter’s workshop?” he asks. Ingrid frowns, confusion etched in her face.

“No, why?”

Felix shrugs, coy again. “I learnt clay can be recycled recently. Until it’s fired, you can just work it again and again, until you make something you like. I thought,” he pauses, what was he thinking? “I thought you’d appreciate the process.”

Ingrid stares at him like he’s grown an extra head. Eventually, she turns and walks again. Oh well, Felix thinks, at least he tried. Maybe he hasn’t explained well. Maybe it’ll come to her later.

He finds Ashe in the reception hall, pacing, then suddenly stopping and staring at everything around him like he doesn’t quite know where he is. His footsteps echo around the room, not unfurnished, but not full of the life it mostly likely used to have. Felix wonders what ghosts linger here. He thinks, uncharitably, that all castles are more or less the same. 

Felix makes sure he makes a noise as he approaches, to not startle the other man. Ashe still looks around at him wide-eyed and Felix can feel the frown relaxing on his own face. 

“How long has it been since you were last here?” Felix asks as they draw close to each other. Ashe reaches out a hand to steady himself on Felix.

“Too long,” he replies. “Did they tell you?” Felix shakes his head, unsure what Ashe is talking about. “The Archbishop has made me the head of House Gaspard.”

“I’m glad. As Lord Lonato’s son, it makes sense,” Felix says, but the look on Ashe’s face betrays his inner turmoil. “And,” Felix continues cautiously, “it’s what the boar always wanted. A home for you and your siblings.” 

Ashe blinks at him slowly, processing. “His Highness…?” Felix nods. He doesn’t know how to be encouraging or how to tell Ashe that his father and his Prince would be proud of him. He squeezes the hand resting on his chest and hopes he can convey his affection that way. Ashe looks like he’s going to lean in, but Felix isn’t done yet. 

“I talked to Sylvain, like you said I should,” Felix feels Ashe tense, but he pushes through, “He’s going back to House Gautier, alone.”

Ashe exhales, his face, for once, is open and vulnerable. Or maybe Felix has gotten better at reading him. “And you?” Ashe asks, “will you stay?”

“Not here,” he says, “and probably not forever. But there’s a cabin not far from here that only a few people know about.”

Ashe breaks out in a grin. “You are my very welcome guest.” 

“I am honoured, Lord Ubert,” Felix says cheekily, sneaking an arm around Ashe’s waist and pulling him in for a kiss. 

When they part, Ashe is pretending to scowl, “that was awful, don’t call me that.” 

***

_ Epilogue - several months later _

Ashe is so exhausted he might just fall off his horse. Being a Lord is much more tiring than he expected. He loves his subjects, he honestly does, but every little decision comes with so much politicking that he’s just not cut out for. And then there’s the constant negotiation with the Church, the shadow of the Archbishop lingering over every conversation. In the letters from his friends, Ingrid admonishes him for being too soft, Annette criticizes him for not using his brain and Sylvain insists he just needs to turn on the charm. Ashe isn’t sure he’s capable of any _ one _ of those things, let alone all of them together.

He sighs, his horse picking out the worn path between the trees. They’ve come this way so much, she barely needs his direction. 

Ashe just wants to build his schools and orphanages in peace, and dammit he’ll sell all the silver in the whole castle to fund it if no one else will. He’s considering the practicality of his plan as they round a corner and his hide away from the noise of the world comes into view. 

It is a small cabin, a garden farm growing along one edge and a newly built stable resting on it’s other side. Ashe was pleasantly surprised to find out that some skill with an axe translated so well into carpentry. It’s not the best craftsmanship, but it’s homely, which is the perfect way to describe the whole set up.

In front of the cabin’s stoop, there is a potter’s wheel and a bucket and most importantly, a man bent over the wheel, a scowl on his face. Felix’s hair is longer still, braid pinned up into a bun away from his face and he is covered up to the elbows in clay. He is surrounded on all sides by misshapen objects that could be loosely defined as a bowl. He looks up as Ashe approaches. 

“Before you comment,” he speaks quickly to interrupt Ashe’s chance to greet him, “this is _ much _ harder than it looks.” 

Ashe laughs, taking his mare around to the stable. He feeds her and Felix’s horse a quick treat while the other man is distracted. When he returns, Felix is washing off his hands in the bucket. 

“Are any of them ready for the kiln?” Ashe asks. Not that they have a kiln. Felix insists the stove in cabin won’t nearly do the job. He prays Felix doesn’t spontaneously take it upon himself to build a whole kiln while he’s away. 

“Not nearly,” Felix twists his face in a moue of displeasure, “everything needs a lot more work.”

Ashe bends down, admiring the ceramics. It’s clear how Felix has improved, even in the space of the week since he last saw his work. He gently lifts one up while Felix fusses behind him. The bowl is lopsided, bulbous even and the lip wobbles in places. His heart soars, it’s weird and gorgeous in it’s own ugly way. 

“What are you talking about?” Ashe exclaims, spinning to show Felix, “this is beautiful! I love it!” 

Felix hesitates, and then he smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Felix for being such a great vehicle for processing trauma and my inability to talk about my feelings. You're the MVP this time.
> 
> If you liked this and want to see a sequel comment below. I want to give Sylvain and Ingrid happy endings too...


End file.
